Zeba needed fresh air.The smoky bar atmosphere stifled her lungs, but she enjoyed the stiff drinks and suckers at pool.She gathered up her winnings, five hundred dollars for the night, and waved off further offers to play another game.
“No, boys.Tonight I’ll give you all a break.Consider yourself lucky I’m taking the rest of the night off.”She glanced around to ensure no one took serious offense at her winning and leaving, but the regulars knew her and knew she wouldn’t cheat, at least not get caught at it, nor make any obvious gestures of grifting(?).Not like she couldn’t handle herself.She could duck and punch with the best of them, but she wasn’t as big as some of these guys, and never as drunk, although tonight, the booze seemed to affect her a little more than usual.Or perhaps she was just tired.
Shooting pool for rent was a far better job than what Lulu did.Touching some sweaty cowpoke or 18 wheeler wasn’t her idea of fun.Bad enough she shot pool with them, but then, she liked their money all the same.Less work, more fun, better pay was her motto.
Zeba tipped the bartender his usual ten percent.“Thanks, Joe.”
“Already?”Joe upturned a polished shot glass with one hand and prepared to pour Cinnamon Schnapps with the other.
“Pass.Just need an early night.”Zeba waved him off as she headed for the ladies room at the back of the bar.At the sink, she splashed water on her face.She was tired.She ached everywhere.And her head thundered with every heartbeat.What was wrong with her?A cold maybe.Damned drunk probably sneezed on her.She vowed to double up her vitamin C when she got home.
Then she doubled over the sink and puked.Not a cold then.The flu?Shit.Sara, her neighbor, kept warning her to get a flu shot.Never know what those morons are coughing and sneezing on you, she’d say.Bars are a hotbed of germs and viruses.Well, Sara should know, she worked in a hospital, which, according to Sara, was the number one place to get sick and die.Zeba had vowed never to need a doctor, much less a hospital.She didn’t trust them.She came from a long line of family who didn’t trust doctors.But she did trust Sara.And if she could just make it home before she puked again, she knew Sara would take good care of her.
A decision made, Zeba stepped out of the bathroom as another wave of nausea hit her.Determined to exit the building, she stumbled out the back door, making it to the dumpster before doubling over again and spewing her guts on the concrete.
“Crap.”She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve.This wasn’t good.She inhaled a huge lungful of air.Not the freshest in town, filled with odors of stale beer and urine, but better than carcinogistic-laden cigarette smoke.
She leaned against the rusted dumpster until her head cleared enough that she finally trusted herself to drive home. She reached into her jeans pocket to remove her keys when another wave hit her.She was determined to make it home.She had no one to call.Sara worked the night shift.She had no family to speak of, no one that would claim her anyway.So she was on her own and she liked it like that.But once in a great while, like tonight, she wished she had someone she could call to rescue her from the rare but occasional ravages of being human.
The cold metal keys in her hand brought her back to reality.She’d passed out?She blinked, the image of dumpster legs and trash littered her vision.Then she felt the graveled cement imprinting her cheek.This was worse than she thought.She pushed herself up from the ground, her arms stiff, her back sore.As she made it to her knees, she noticed blood dripping from her sides.Again, her body spasmed and she screamed as pain ripped her back.
Panting, Zeba crawled toward the bar’s back door.She had to get help.She had no idea what was happening to her, but she had to get help.
Another spasm wracked her body.Another scream rent from her throat.
Her body arched with the constriction.Then she felt something tearing on her
